


God Bless Lili St. Cyr!

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Costumes, Established Relationship, F/M, Genderfluidity (implied), Jealousy, M/M, Rocky Horror Picture Show References, Romance, cross dressing, halloween fic, post chapter 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 12:37:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21075029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: The Losers go to a showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show, and Richie has a surprise for Eddie.





	God Bless Lili St. Cyr!

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write Richie in lingerie, and this is really just a roundabout way to do that. I may explore more in this 'genderfluid Richie' line of thinking at a future day, but who knows!
> 
> Big thanks to Hannah for beta'ing!

“Well _obviously_, Ben has to be Rocky,” Beverly says with something almost like a lascivious look in her eyes. She licks her lips for good measure and beside her, Ben flushes pink in the apples of his cheeks. 

“Why do I have to be Rocky!” He hisses. 

“Ben,” Richie says, voice serious. “That may actually be the dumbest question you’ve ever asked.” 

Ben blushes deeper. “It’s not like you’re all _trolls_ or something.”

“But none of us would look _nearly_ as good in tiny gold shorts.”

Ben sighs and tips his head back, murmuring something that looks like a prayer for help. “Fine,” he says eventually. 

“Yes!” Richie does a quick fist pump before turning and high-fiving Beverly. Beside him, Eddie clears his throat and Richie whips around to face him. “Babe, c’mon, you know I’d pay to see you in tiny gold shorts any day. You’d make a great Rocky.”

Eddie rolls his eyes affectionately. “Kiss ass.”

“Your ass? Always.” Richie throws an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and tugs him close to plant a wet, noisy kiss against his cheek. Eddie squirms away, swatting playfully at Richie’s chest. 

“Okay,” Eddie says, once there’s at least a little room to breathe between him and Richie. “Ben is Rocky, so what about the rest of us?”

“Bev, I assume you’ll be Colombia? Or Magenta?” Bill chases his words with a sip of beer.

Beverly takes a long drink of her own, lips smacking. “You know what they say about assuming things, Big Bill.” Her eyes are bright and sparkling. “I’ll be Janet.” She bats her eyes, blue irises suddenly full of doe-like innocence. “I figured you and Mike could be Colombia and Magenta.”

Bill promptly chokes on his beer and Mike simply bursts into laughter. He slaps at Bill’s back until he stops coughing. Mike smirks around the lip of his bottle. 

“I’ll be Colombia,” he says with a confidence Richie frankly never expected of the other man. “I look great in gold.”

Beverly lets out a shriek of delighted laughter and claps her hands together. “Yes, Mike! Perfect!” She lifts her glass and holds it over the table so Mike can cheers his beer against her cocktail. “You game, Bill?” 

Bill sighs, looking down the neck of his bottle. “What about Eddie?” He asks with a sideways glance.

Richie looks at Eddie too. “Yeah Eds, what about you? Is my birthday gonna come early this year?”

“It’d be coming late, asshole, your birthday already happened.” Eddie sucks angrily at his own drink.

Richie draws circles on Eddie’s shoulder, soothing. “You already clean house like a maid. You’d look cute in that little get up.”

“Shut the fuck up, Richie.” Then, “No, no way, I’m not gonna be Magenta.”

Bill sighs again. “Fine.” 

“You’re going to look so good in heels,” Beverly says to Bill. “Eddie, you can be my Brad.” She extends her hand and waggles her ring finger, already donned with a modestly large rock courtesy of Ben. 

Eddie blushes and rolls his eyes, but reaches out to take Beverly’s hand nonetheless. “I’m honored, Bev. Just don’t expect me to sing.”

Beverly pouts before bursting into laughter. “Fine, fair enough. Can’t win ‘em all, I guess.” 

Things settle for a bit, especially as their entrees finally arrive. Everyone is tucking into their food and getting refills on their drinks when Eddie suddenly stops, fork screeching across his plate.

“Wait, who the fuck is Richie gonna be? Dr. Scott?” 

Richie shoves a bite of steak into his mouth to avoid answering. Bev shoots him a grin.

“It’s a surprise,” she tells Eddie. 

Eddie arches an eyebrow. “No.”

“No?”

“I hate surprises.” He says this more to Richie than Beverly, and Richie shrugs guiltily, mouth still full of steak. He’s chewed it way more than it needs by now but if he swallows, he’ll have to give Eddie an answer, and he really doesn’t want to do that. “Richie, c’mon,” Eddie whines.

Richie realizes then that Eddie’s fucking with him—he’s either already figured it out, or this is one surprise he doesn’t mind. Richie finally swallows, cracked pepper and minced garlic tingling his throat the whole way down. “You’ll see,” he says. “Bev is gonna help me, and we’ll meet you at the cinema.”

“Wait, we’re not even gonna drive together?”

“You can take me home after, scout’s honor.”

Eddie elbows him in the ribs. “You’re probably gonna be Eddie, aren’t you? That’s why I’m not allowed to know ahead of time.”

Richie snorts. It’s not a bad guess—and honestly, he’d considered it. He’d look good in a vest and motorcycle gloves, some good combat boots and ripped up jeans. He’d slick his hair back and smudge liner under his eyes. But that’s not who he’s dressing as. Not that he’ll tell Eddie that. “You’ll just have to wait and see, babe.”

Eddie smiles at him. “Guess I will.” 

“I think this was a bad idea,” Richie says as Beverly pops the cap off her lipstick. 

Beverly raises an eyebrow at him. Her normally wild, curly hair is tamed into something more demure and fitting of Janet Weiss, except she’s decided to go with the high-waisted panties and a thin skirt over top, with an old-school bra underneath a cotton robe, so it’s all kind of at odds with each other. Like the film, basically. She tells him, “You’re doing this, Richie. What better way to tell Eddie you’re into getting pretty than to show up as Frank-N-Furter?”

“I think there are almost certainly better ways,” Richie says before puckering his lips obediently. He sits stone still as Beverly drags the deep red lipstick across his mouth. She’s already done the rest of his makeup: his brows are plucked and shaped, his eyeshadow cascades across his lids and up to his brow bone, and he’s pretty sure he never wants to wear eyeliner again because his eyes won’t stop watering. His cheeks are contoured—he doesn’t even understand how Beverly did it, but any time he catches a glimpse of himself in her vanity mirror, he’s positive he’s looking at an alien or something.

“There,” Beverly says, taking a step back. “Perfect.” 

Richie rubs his lips together carefully before letting Beverly blot them dry. 

“Look,” she says with a nod to the mirror.

Richie turns in the seat and blinks at his reflection. The whole picture is a little bit ruined by his thick-frame glasses, but aside from that… “Wow,” he says. He leans in and brings a hesitant hand to his mouth.

“Careful, that stuff smears like a bitch.”

Richie nods at Bev’s warning and doesn’t touch the lipstick. He turns his head to admire the angle lent to his cheek by the contouring, even if the overly pale makeup on his face is jarring with the rest of the skin tone. “Jesus, Bev, you fuckin’ nailed it.”

Beverly ruffles his already tousled and teased hair. “I had a good canvas, that’s all. C’mon, you wanna help me contour Ben’s abs?”

“Like he needs it.” Richie stands all the same, tugging anxiously at his garter belt and stockings.

“It’s for dramatic effect,” Beverly says. “Unless you want to try putting on your heels now.”

He does _not_ want to try that, so he says, “Of course I’m gonna help, it’ll probably be the only chance I have to get up close and personal with that body.”

Ben’s waiting for them in the living room, already dressed and ready to go—save for, apparently, contouring his abs. 

“Jesus, Richie,” he says, sounding awed. “You...wow.” 

Richie can feel a blush burning his cheeks under his makeup. “Thanks, Ben, baby,” he drawls. He runs a hand down his side, fingers catching on the lace of his corset, and it only makes his cheeks burn more.

Ben nods, smiling though his expression is oddly intense. “Seriously, Rich, you look amazing.”

Richie barely resists the urge to tug at his clothes again. “Thanks,” he says, gentler.

“Alright, enough cute shit. You guys will have plenty of time to schmooze all over each other at the showing. Ben, c’mere, I’m going to contour your abs.”

“Bev!” Ben shouts, indignant, even though he approaches Beverly anyway. “I thought we agreed not to.”

“You agreed, I did no such thing.” Beverly drops swiftly to her knees right on the carpet. Were Richie a lesser man, he’d blush at the sight of Beverly in nothing more than vintage panties and a cotton robe on her knees in front of Ben who’s only wearing tight gold shorts. 

He’s not a lesser man, but his cock still twitches in his own panties. Admittedly, he didn’t even realize Beverly had actually grabbed her contouring kit. 

He’s distracted from the sight by his phone buzzing in the bust of his corset and he pulls it out.

**From: Eddie  
** _Miss you <3_

He smiles fondly down at his phone, thumb tracing along the edge of the screen. He fires back a similar message, with a few obnoxious emojis for good measure, before looking back at Ben and Bev. The contouring of the abs is going surprisingly quick, even if Ben looks a little uncomfortable and Beverly looks so deep in concentration she might drown. It’s kind of mesmerizing to watch and when Beverly whistles and stands, signifying a job well done, Richie’s fully zoned out.

Beverly turns on him, though. Even in her drab makeup, she commands his full attention. “C’mon, Trashmouth, time for those heels.”

Richie groans and allows himself to be dragged over to the couch.

“Did you practice like I told you?”

“Every day,” Richie says. “Whenever Eds wasn’t home.” He falls onto the couch and watches, a bit miserable, as Beverly brings the sparkly heels over to him. The heel is thicker than the ones Tim Curry wore, and they’re closed toe versus a peep toe because that’s all they could find in Richie’s size, but he knows for a fact they fit and he probably won’t kill himself in them. 

Beverly helps him into them, even though he tells her he can do it on his own. It is a little harder to reach over and secure the strap around his ankle with the corset hugging his ribs, he realizes. Beverly taps his calf once both shoes are on, and Ben helps him to stand.

Richie’s legs wobble and for a horrible second, he thinks his knees are going to give out. But then he takes a shaking step away from the couch, and another, and another, and then Beverly shouts “Strut!” and Richie nearly falls over from laughing.

“You can’t do that, Bev!” Richie bends forward and presses his hands to his knees. The cut of fishnet under his palms is foreign, but feels good. “_I _can’t do this,” he amends. 

“You can,” Beverly says, suddenly at his side. “Big strong Ben will hold you up, if need be.”

Just like that, Ben is beside him too, an arm around his waist and a bright smile on his face. “Of course.”

“This is going to suck. I’m going to die. Eddie’s gonna think I look stupid.”

Beverly grabs his chin and forces him to look at her. “If he thinks you look stupid, I will personally kick his ass, and Ben will fuck you to make you feel better.”

Richie splutters but Ben hums in agreement. “Have you guys talked about this or something?” Richie asks, looking between them both, back and forth, until he feels dizzy. 

Beverly darts forward and kisses the hinge of Richie’s jaw in a way that’s hot and sweet in equal measure. “Maybe,” she tells him with a wink.

“What the fuck,” Richie mumbles.

“I’m going to grab my shoes,” Beverly says. 

“I’m fucking freezing,” Richie says, arms wrapped around himself as Ben hits the beeper on the car to lock it. 

“Same,” Ben says. He tugs at the legs of his shorts, which strain almost obscenely over the muscles in his thighs as he walks. 

“We’re all suffering,” Beverly says as she wraps the robe tighter around herself. “Deal with it.” Her and Richie’s heels _clack_ on the sidewalk as they make their way to the little historic theater, tucked between an alehouse and an old bridal gown store. There are groups of people milling about outside, bustling and chattering. “They should be out here, Mike said they’d wait for us before going inside.” 

Richie opens his mouth to say something about freezing his dick off when a throaty gasp turning into a coughing fit catches his ear. He turns, following the sound, and makes a strangled noise of his own. “Eds?”

“Richie what the _fuck_.” Eddie’s hands are shaking, fidgeting like he’s itching for an inhaler he no longer uses. He’s in a soft bathrobe too, and Richie knows he’s got nothing but little tidy whities on underneath.

Richie swallows. “Surprise?”

Eddie staggers forward—away from Mike and Bill, and Richie will need to address the way his cock twitches _again_ at the sight of _them_—and his hands find Richie’s hips. “Jesus fucking Christ, Rich.”

Richie preens under the praise but trembles uncertainly in Eddie’s hands. “Yeah?” He says, voice quiet. 

“You’re so fucking tall,” Eddie says in awe. “Why the fuck do you look so good? What the fuck?”

Richie laughs and with it, it’s like a weight being lifted on his chest. He winds his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and smiles down at him. “You like it?” 

“I love it,” Eddie assures. “I’d kiss you, but I don’t think I need to be covered in lipstick yet.” 

“Besides,” Beverly says, voice cutting through their conversation easily. “You’re mine for now, Brad Majors.” 

Richie can’t help it and mutters, “Dammit, Janet.”

Beverly flips him the bird as she reaches out to tug Eddie closer. Ben takes Eddie’s spot a moment later, winding an arm around Richie’s waist. Eddie is still looking over his shoulder at Richie, eyes roaming up and down his body. Richie burns under the scrutiny.

“Okay, but let’s talk about Mike and Bill, because, uh, holy fucking shit!” Richie says.

Bill laughs a little awkwardly and Mike’s blush is apparent even in the low lighting outside.

“Thanks Rich,” Bill says. He waggles the feather duster in his hand at Richie and Richie playfully bites at it. 

“Seriously, who knew you had such good legs? I’m feeling self-conscious here,” Richie says with a leer at Bill’s and Mike’s legs, exposed to the elements and wrapped in thin stockings too.

Bill tugs the hem of his maid’s skirt down but it does nothing to cover the skin between where stockings end and skirt begins. Meanwhile Mike sticks out his leg, muscled and far less dainty than Bill or Richie’s, but looking no less excellent in sparkly black shorts. They’re a hair too long, maybe, and not nearly as tight as Ben’s, and solid black rather than multi-colored, but with the jaunty tilt of his hat there’s no denying who Mike is dressed as.

“Oh my god, can we get a picture? You guys look amazing!” Crows someone beside them, and Richie swivels his head toward the noise with the rest of the Losers. 

“Sure!” Beverly says. She immediately starts to direct them: Richie in the middle, Ben posing beside him, Mike and Bill wrapped around each other on Richie’s other side. On the far end, Bev and Eddie cling to each other with expressions of uncertainty and fear.

The girl taking the picture squeals with delight and snaps several, some with flash and some without. Her friend starts tugging at her sleeve but before she goes, she runs up to Richie.

“You look amazing,” she tells him seriously. “And so does your Rocky.”

Richie reacts on instinct. He reaches out and hooks a finger in the waistband of Ben’s shorts to tug him closer, slipping a hand down to cup his ass. “Isn’t he perfect?” Richie purrs, voice only trembling a little. “I’m so proud,” he continues. He pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. 

Ben’s laughing against him by the time the girls wander away. “You’re too good at this,” Ben tells him. 

“Yeah,” Eddie adds. He’s got a sour twist to his lips, and Richie nearly opens his mouth to apologize. “Next time, I _am_ being Rocky.”

“I was thinking next time I’d be Eddie,” Richie counters with a grin.

“Then I’ll be Colombia,” is Eddie’s swift reply.

“I’d absolutely pay to see you in little sparkly shorts, Eds.” 

“You’d look stupid with your hair gelled like that,” Eddie says. 

“Oh babe, you say the sweetest things.” Richie winks at Eddie before pointing toward the theater doors. “C’mon, I wanna get some good seats.”

Beverly ends up dragging Eddie ahead of the crowd because people keep stopping Richie and Ben for pictures—Mike and Bill too, naturally. They have no hope of getting decent seats with how many people keep stopping them, so Richie watches Eddie’s blue bathrobe disappear into the crowd. He distracts himself by thinking of new and creative ways to drape himself over Ben for pictures. 

At one point, Ben curls both arms around Richie’s waist and hauls him into the air. Richie’s legs kick and his hands dig into Ben’s meaty shoulders and Richie’s pretty positive he just creamed his lacy underwear, but it makes for a killer photo. Richie makes sure the fan tags him in it on Twitter just so he can steal it later. The internet is going to blow the fuck up over it, but they already know he’s a raging queer, so what harm can it do? 

Mike and Bill eventually give up on wading through the crowd and promise to get some beers for the group instead, and disappear in the opposite direction of their seats toward concessions. Richie and Ben are slowly but surely inching their way closer to their seats; it would go a lot faster if Richie could stop reveling in the attention, he knows.

“You look good,” Ben whispers to him suddenly, as they’re squished between a drag queen with hair that might be taller than Eddie, and a little feisty blonde girl who, if Richie’s guess is right, is dressed _just_ as the lips. “Own it.” Ben squeezes Richie’s ass for good measure and Richie whines.

“I’m going to leave Eddie, and you and I are going to elope.”

“I think my wife would take a slight issue with that.”

“She’s eloping with us.”

“Oh,” Ben says, laughing as he uses his hand on Richie’s ass to steer him through the crowd. “That’s fine then.” 

They get stopped a handful of times more before they finally see Beverly waving them down. Richie hurries over—idly missing the warmth of Ben’s hand on his ass, though he much prefers the hug Eddie wraps him immediately. Behind them, Richie hears Beverly give Ben a wet kiss. 

“You’re blowing up on Twitter,” Eddie tells him as they fall into their seats. 

“Yeah, figured that would happen.”

Eddie pulls out his phone and pulls up _#RichieTozier_ on Twitter. Clearly, there are _several_ fans who have recognized him here, whether they mentioned it or not. Richie takes Eddie’s phone and scrolls through the posts: some are just talking about how good he looks, and a few are disparaging, but what else is new, really. Most of them are photos, some reposts of others, and Richie eats them all up gleefully. 

“I look good,” he says, as though it’s just dawning on him. 

“You and Ben look good together.”

Richie stops scrolling and looks over to Eddie. “Eddie...are you jealous?”

“No!” Eddie snaps. He plucks his phone from Richie’s gasp and shoves it into the pocket of his baby blue robe. “I’m not jealous, that would be stupid.”

Richie blinks. The mascara feels heavy on his lashes in a way he thinks he might be getting addicted to. “It’s okay if you are. Ben is a hot piece of ass, for sure.” 

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie says. He’s _pouting_, and Richie wants to kiss the look off his face. 

He leans in close enough to almost let his lips brush Eddie’s ear. “You know you’re the only one for me, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that.” But some of the tension seeps from Eddie’s shoulders. 

Bill and Mike show up then, with the necessary goody bags and a beer for each of them. Not long after that, the lights in the theater start to go dim and the stage lights up in spotlights. An especially dolled up Magenta takes the stage, with hair teased out wider than her shoulders and red ruffled panties that peek at the audience with each of her bouncy steps. She has a mic in her hand and taps it twice before speaking. 

“Good evening, ladies and gents and everybody else! Welcome to an evening of delightfully sensual,” she drags a hand down her chest and between her legs as she speaks, “Deliciously _evil_,” a bright and maniacal cackle echoes in the theater, “Wonderful fun!” She throws her hands up and the crowd cheers, Richie and the other Losers included. 

“Before we get started,” she continues, “We’d like to call all the virgins to the stage, please.” There’s a heavy pause as only a few people stand, giggling, making their way to the stage. “For those of you who _don’t_ know, a virgin is anyone who hasn’t been to a live showing before.” She says it sweetly but condescendingly, and Richie’s neck sweats lightly with embarrassment.

He loves the movie—has since he was a kid. It’s dear to him in a number of ways, almost too many to count…but he’s never actually been to a showing like this before. He read up, he knows what to do, but his hands have started to shake.

A tanned hand enters his line of sight and he looks up to see Ben smiling down at him. “I’m a virgin too, it’s okay.”

Richie looks at Eddie, who looks chagrined to say, “I saw a showing in college.” 

Beverly laughs at that and swats at Ben’s ass. “Get up there, virgins!” 

Richie and Ben go tumbling from the aisle along with Mike and a dozen other strangers and they all file onto the stage. The Magenta with the mic nods approvingly as the stage fills and fills and fills. Eventually the oncoming virgins slows to a trickle before it seems that everyone who’s going to be on stage has arrived.

“I’m going to divvy you up into groups,” Magenta says, “And then we’re going to have some fun.” She splits them into four relatively even groups and then whirls around to face the audience. She stands tall and proud in the center of the stage and the spotlight tracks her as she struts to one side. “We’re going to have a _contest_.” 

The crowd cheers again. Up on stage, Richie feels a little surer of himself, which is insane since he’s in heels and fishnets and god damn lingerie, with a chunky pearl necklace around his neck. But the blinding nature of the stage lights and the sea of faces he can’t quite see are familiar to him. 

“Whoever can give me their best orgasm wins!” Magenta holds up a finger and the theater falls silent. “Allow me to demonstrate.” She passes the mic to a Riff Raff standing near her before she takes a deep breath. She doesn’t need the mic to be heard for miles as she moans: gasping, groaning, throwing her head back and running her hands over her body.

Richie can’t help it: he grins goofily, even as his ears burn. It’s a lot to watch, even if he knows it’s all in good fun. A quick glance to his left tells him Ben and Mike are both blushing too. 

“Any questions? No? Then let the game begin!” She takes the mic back and points to the team at the far end of the stage.

Immediately they erupt into moans. None so as erotic as hers, but all loud and wanton and ridiculous. Richie hides his laugh behind his hand and is careful not to smear his lipstick on his fingerless glove. The moaning goes on for several long moments until Magenta clears her throat, then points to the second group. Someone in that group lets out several high-pitched wails that have the crowd bursting into laughter. 

Magenta shushes them again after a few minutes, then points at the third group—Richie, Mike, and Ben’s group.

“Trust me?” Ben says.

“Of course,” Richie replies, and then hot hands are on his hips and dragging him close. He’s way taller than Ben because of the heels but the closeness still has his cock grinding against Ben’s chiseled abs. Mike laughs somewhere behind him and crowds him close, chin hooked over Richie’s shoulder. Richie’s own laughter seamlessly gives way into a moan. He throws his head back and moans loud; he does his best to hitch a leg up over Ben’s hip, and it’s hard to keep moaning when he wants to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. He’s panting and gasping and, unsurprisingly, actually getting a little hard in his panties. 

Then Magenta is shushing them, and shushing the wolf-whistling crowd. She’s grinning as she points to the fourth group. They moan and writhe and clearly take some cues from Richie, Ben, and Mike’s performance. Richie can barely pay attention, he’s too distracted by the sweat slicking his skin and his half-chub. 

He barely hears it when Magenta announces his group the winner. He cheers along with everyone else and they all file off the stage, Richie doing so in a daze. He lets Ben lead him back to their seats—his eyes are dancing from the spotlights—and he collapses into his seat beside Eddie.

“Jesus, Richie,” Eddie says. His breath is hot and damp against Richie’s cheek. 

Richie finally gives in to the urge to kiss Eddie. It’s a messy and lopsided kiss, and Richie just knows he’s smearing lipstick across Eddie’s mouth and part of his cheek. They kiss even as the rows behind them whistle and cheer, and only stop when Magenta, still on stage, clears her throat again.

“What an incredible performance,” she says, and Richie can’t help but duck his head a bit. “Who’s ready to get started!?” She asks the crowd. 

Underneath all the laughter and screaming, Eddie leans over, lips pink and messy, to whisper in Richie’s ear. “I can’t wait to get you home.”

Richie shivers in his seat.

He mostly forgets about his arousal during the show. It’s too fun and ridiculous not to. He sings along with the movie and the crowd, and he does the Time Warp while screaming with laughter, and quotes every single line he can when he’s not breathless from either laughing or Eddie’s hand on his inner thigh. He throws rice and snaps a rubber glove three times and hurls a roll of toilet paper into the air and all the other things he knows he needs to do, and it’s easily one of the best nights of his life. 

The night seems to fly by so quickly that by the time the end credits are rolling, Richie’s reluctant to leave the theater. They all leave in a messy and insane crowd; the only reason Richie doesn’t lose Eddie in the flow of people is that Eddie hasn’t let go of his garter belt from the moment they stood up.

The air outside is even colder by the time they spill out onto the sidewalk. Beverly hoots and Mike hollers and they all start meandering toward their cars. It’s late, and everyone’s tired, and Richie can admit he’s a little disappointed no one else asks for pictures. The disappointment is negated by the ache in his feet and calves and how the once delightfully heavy feeling of makeup on his face now just makes him sleepy. 

They didn’t park exactly near each other so they stop after a bit of walking, each of them intended for different directions. Richie leans on Eddie and Bev is wrapped around Ben like an octopus and Mike and Bill are making eyes at each other in a way Richie’s been predicting for at least two years. 

“This was amazing,” Beverly declares after placing a wet, smacking kiss to Ben’s neck. “We need to do this every year.”

“I refuse to be Frank-N-Furter every year. My poor feet can’t take it.”

Beverly rolls her eyes. “We can rotate,” she promises him, only a little condescending. 

“We should get going,” Eddie says. His arm around Richie’s waist feels different than Ben’s. Richie can admit, at least to himself, that it’s a little thrilling to know the difference so definitively. Richie leans against Eddie’s arm just to feel the tendons in his arm flex. 

“Yeah, yeah, go bone your super hot and pretty boyfriend,” Beverly says. “I’ll go bone mine.”

Richie barks out a laugh. “Jesus, Bev.” 

Mike and Bill make quick goodbyes and Beverly speaks again before Richie and Eddie can head toward their car.

“The offer from earlier still stands, Richie. You just give me a call.”

Richie grins. “I don’t think that’s going to be an issue.”

The drive back to the house is so quick, Richie is kind of amazed they don’t get pulled over. It’s probably a miracle really; the last thing Richie needs is to get pulled over while Eddie’s in nothing but underwear and a bathrobe and Richie himself is still looking like a cross between Frank-N-Furter and a cheap hooker. 

Richie clambers out of the car with his heels in hand and Eddie waits for him before they walk up to the door together. The tension starts to rise as Eddie fumbles for the house key to let them inside.

The second they’re in the foyer, Eddie’s tossing his keys into the bowl by the door and whipping around to face Richie. One hand finds his cheek and the other finds his hip and Eddie’s lips find Richie’s.

“Eddie,” Richie says, but it’s muffled into the kiss. Eddie licks into his mouth, surging up to kiss him—it’s clearly easier now that Richie isn’t wearing the heels. Speaking of, he drops them with a loud _clunk_ to their hardwood floor. He slides his hands under Eddie’s robe and runs his touch over his pecs, the faint dusting of hair on his chest. “Eds,” Richie gasps when the kiss breaks. 

“C’mon, need you,” Eddie says. He barely steps back, moreso drags Richie along to the stairs and up them and to their room. They go stumbling into the bedroom and onto the bed. Eddie shrugs off the bathrobe but reaches for Richie’s hands when he goes for the fastenings on the corset. “Keep it on?” Eddie asks in a voice that’s almost shy.

Richie groans. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” He reaches down to at least unhook his stockings from his garter belt so he can pull that off, dropping it over the edge of the bed. He shoves his panties down his legs enough to expose his hole and let his cock bounce forward, smearing precome along the hem of his corset. 

“Fuck,” Eddie moans. He’s already got the lube in one hand and three fingers slicked up on the other hand. He wastes no time prepping Richie, one finger becoming two becoming three, curling and pressing deep inside him.

Richie throws an arm over his eyes but the sequins on his gloves grit against his face, so he yanks them off. It’s a struggle as the fabric sticks to his skin from sweat. Eddie finally reaches out with his free hand, lube abandoned beside them on the bed, to peel the gloves off Richie’s arms. It’s stupid because the gloves are campy as hell, but it’s also sensual as fuck and Richie forgets how to breathe for a second.

“Eds, c’mon, I’m ready. I need you.”

Eddie stops. His hair is flopping against his forehead and his cheeks are deeply flushed. “Yeah?”

Richie nods and spreads his legs as far as he can—which isn’t far with the panties caught around his thighs, but it feels good this way. Feels lewd and hot, _dirty_. 

Eddie pushes closer on his knees and presses Richie’s legs up until he can press the head of his slicked-up cock against Richie’s hole. He slides in without hesitation and keeps going until he bottoms out and Richie’s left gasping for air.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Eddie,” Richie whines as he thrashes. The corset is suddenly too tight and too hot but it only turns him on more. He feels slutty like this, underwear around his thighs and rips in his stockings. The corset slips down his chest enough that his nipples peek out over the edge and Eddie brushes a finger over one of them, rough and quick. 

Richie arches his back into the touch. “You feel so good, Eds.”

“Better than Ben?” Eddie asks before he stops moving, mouth hanging open. “Oh, shit.”

A laugh bubbles up out of Richie. “Holy shit, I knew you were jealous, Eds!” He hooks a hand around the back of Eddie’s neck and pulls him down for a fumbling kiss. “You’re perfect, Eds, I love you so much.”

“You were all over him,” Eddie moans as he starts to thrust again. It’s fast and sharp and Richie loves the feeling of being split open on Eddie’s thick cock—and loves it even more with the soft but filthy stream of Eddie’s voice against his lips. “You looked like you were going to let him fuck you right there on that stage.”

“Never,” Richie promises in a gasp. “Just you.”

“Just me,” Eddie agrees. “You’re mine.” He punctuates the claim with an especially brutal thrust and Richie’s eyes flutter shut. “You looked so good. I wanted to get my hands on you so everyone would know you’re mine.” 

“I am,” Richie babbles. “Promise, all yours, just yours.” Tears prick at his eyes and he gasps wetly. He can feel his orgasm cresting, bone deep and heavy as Eddie pounds inside him. “Wanted you all night.”

“Knew it,” Eddie moans. His thrusts are getting choppy and uneven in rhythm and his breathing is skipping in that way that means he’s close. “Should’ve taken you to the bathroom and bent you over the sink.”

Richie can feel his eyes roll back in his head as he comes untouched between them. His hips work eager and desperate as his cock pulses between them. Come shoots up onto Eddie’s stomach and onto Richie’s corset and the sensations are drawn out as Eddie keeps fucking into him.

“I would’ve let you,” Richie says, still trying to catch his breath. “Would’ve let you bend me over. Wouldn’t even need to lock the door.”

Eddie’s moan catches in his throat as he comes. His hips start and stop and start and stop as he comes deep inside Richie. “Oh, oh, oh, fuck,” Eddie groans as he drops his head to the dip of Richie’s collarbone. His hips twitch in the aftermath until he finally slows to a stop. 

“I can’t believe you were jealous,” Richie marvels as he strokes a hand through Eddie’s hair.

“Oh my god.” Eddie looks up with a glare. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” 

“Definitely not,” Richie agrees. He kisses the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “But I promise to only tease you on very special occasions if you answer a question for me.”

“Anything, Rich.” Eddie’s response is quick, but serious—like he knows Richie isn’t really joking now. 

“You liked the outfit, right?”

Eddie raises an unimpressed eyebrow and jerks his hips forward slightly, where his still half-hard cock is inside Richie.

“Yeah, I know,” Richie says with a shiver. “But like...what if I wanted to do it...more often?” 

Eddie’s mouth parts slightly. “I’d like that. I’d be okay with that, I mean. It’s for you, not for me.”

“It’s kind of for you,” Richie admits with a smile. 

Eddie licks his lips. “Then yeah, yeah I’d like that.” 

Richie tugs him in for a kiss that’s deep and sweet. It tastes faintly like beer and lipstick. “Okay,” he says. His voice only shakes a little. He’s done the hardest part. “Maybe we could go shopping sometime, huh?” 

“Jesus, Richie, I’m still inside you.” Eddie lowers his head to hide his face against Richie’s neck. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

Richie presses his smile to the top of Eddie’s head. “Awesome,” he says softly. “Now let me up, I need to get this fucking corset off.”

“I’ll help.” 

Eddie slips from him and they sit up, both of them wrinkling their nose at the scent of sex now filling their bedroom. Richie turns and puts his back to Eddie so he can undo the lacing. Eddie’s fingers brushing his skin as the corset comes loose is considerably more arousing than Beverly’s dainty fingers pulling the laces tighter. Richie unclasps the pearl necklace too, and drops it onto the bedside table.

“Beverly offered to let Ben fuck me if you didn’t like the lingerie thing.”

Eddie splutters behind him.

“Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction too.”

“Why am I even surprised that Beverly offered that? Of course she did.”

“It was a two for one deal: she’d kick your ass and I’d sleep with Ben.” Richie pulls the corset from his body once the lacing is undone and drops it to the floor. He shoves his panties down his thighs the rest of the way, followed by the stockings. Their bed is surrounded by a mess of costume pieces by the time they both slip under the covers together. Richie is still wet and sticky but he’s too tired to care, and he thinks for once Eddie is too. 

“If I ever tell you I don’t like something like this, you have my permission to tell Bev to kick my ass.”

“And I can sleep with Ben?”

Eddie sighs. “Yes. If I am that much of an asshole, you can sleep with Ben.”

Richie snickers as he winds his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and hitches a leg over Eddie’s hip. “I love you so much.” 

Eddie kisses him gently before saying, “Love you too, Rich,” and wrapping around him too. They’re going to get too warm quickly, even though it’s Halloween and therefore fucking cold as balls outside. The blanket is heavy and lulling Richie to sleep. His eyes drift shut, and he wonders if they have any makeup remover or wipes that he can use, or if he’ll have to call Beverly.

“Sleep, Richie,” Eddie says.

Richie does.


End file.
